


Job 28:3-11

by likecrackingwater (1thetenfootlongscarf2)



Category: Justified
Genre: mining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-16 08:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1thetenfootlongscarf2/pseuds/likecrackingwater
Summary: Raylan has to go back to the only thing he admitted truly terrified him. There is a distinct lack of red-headed women.





	1. As Above

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toli-a (togina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/togina/gifts).



_Man puts an end to darkness,_  
           _And to the farthest limit he searches out_  
_The rock in gloom and deep shadow._

 _He sinks a shaft far from habitation,_  
          _Forgotten by the foot;_  
_They hang and swing to and fro far from men._

_The earth, from it comes food,  
            And underneath it is turned up as fire._

_- New American Standard Bible▾_   _Job 28:3-5_

* * *

Art was surveying the clearing, the ragged edges of the asphalt court crumbling towards the ring of solemn trees. He looked over to his number one. Rachel was watching the mouth of the shaft. The rusted gate was curling up at the bottom and jagged lipped along the top. Where there was overhang the entrance kept its full metal shine. It was hauled suspiciously open, a few ATVs left idle and cold at the entrance leaving little in the way of imagining what transported. A gaggle of idiots gone into a mine, drawn by the gleaming copper shine. Maybe.

“Looks dangerous.” Her way was laconic and Art appreciated that about her. 

He grunted, made to stand beside her. “Which is why you have hazard pay.”

“And medical insurance.” The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. She shaded her eyes as she watched the darkness in the mountain. It was so deep it looked like an illusion, like it had been painted into the surface. So dark there was no shapes to be made out in the gloom. 

There was little noise right then, just the murmured sound of leaves overhead, bright sharp spring shoots. There was a limited lingering coolness this high up the hollow. A breeze was tricking out of the rock face. Some of the exposed granite had been blasted to smooth sheets. Affixed to one was a plaque: it chided and threatened in turn. 

The stillness was eventually cut by a roaring caravan; Rachel turned her head to watch the collection pull up, one new SUV and a number of battered trucks. 

“Time to meet and greet.” Art approached the SUV which dumped out a few suits who suffered from starched seams and shined shoes. Art had on some fairly new hiking boots, laces still striped yellow and brown. 

The lead man grabbed his hand, shook briskly. “Office of Miner's Health, Safety and Training rode up with us,” he said. “I’m Nate Fallon, Regional Director for Coldiron Creek Coal Co. With me is the local overseers Ben Rickles and Walt Gload.” Art shook their hands too. Rachel came up and took her own run at the gauntlet. Gload had sweaty palms and Rickles was overweight and trying not to look winded just standing on the incline. 

From further back was a commotion, raised voices followed by the sound of glass shattering. Rachel craned her neck. There was a knot of miners, kitted in overalls and belts heavily with equipment, clustered around a man laying on the ground. He was clutching a bottle, bottom now shattered and liquor soaking the front of his uniformly blue clothes.

Fallon was failing to conceal his scorn. 

Art took off his hat, set it back on his head. "Those the guys you brought with you from West Virginia?"

"There are not a lot of surplus workers to make a pool from." Fallon shook his head. "Unless you want to pay overtime to the locals?"

"Thought mine rescue was different from..." Art looked over the collected men. "Whatever the hell this is."

"This isn't mine rescue," which came from the guy with the mine safety office. "You said they were holed up. We got these guys to help you marshals get your man."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "That's the Mounties." Art stifled a smile beside her. "And while we appreciate the help your are offering, I'm not sure why we would need to go in after them. It not like they'll be down there long."

Fallon cut a guilty look to the safety official, then his coworkers. "This mine wasn't kept as secure as we..." he cast about for the right word, "planned."

"Intended," added Gload. Rachel glanced back to the torn fence. 

"Not the most high-tech," she allowed. Art rubbed at his nose. Fallon was trying to clamp down on an irritated expression. "What aren't you telling us?"

"Some local idiots used this shaft to stockpile for their prepper bullshit." Rickles had the grace to looked guilty but was also coming across too much like a kicked dog, which was pitiful for all the wrong reasons. 

"Prepper?" Art repeated. "That supposed to mean something to me?"

"Libertarians getting ready for the end times." Rachel sighed. "They’re enthusiastic. They have guns?" The men as a group was too quick to deny. They didn’t have a fucking clue.

"Just food, ma'am." She hated when they called her  _ma'am_  like she needed placating. "Nothing too serious."

Art groaned. "Just the five of them and the pile of warrants I have on my plate that they are dangerous, racist assholes." One of the company miners was approaching. 

Rachel waved him on. He looked stern, oddly pale from the hours underground. He took off his glove to shake her hand and did it properly, looked her right in the eyes. Art was keeping the suits busy so she stepped to the side.

"Sorry about the mess, officer." There was dip dragging down his lip. "Not the usual crew, but we'll do our best."

"You understand what we want done?"

He scratched at his neck. "Just go in and find some guys, ask 'em nice to come out. That about the shape of it?"

"That's about the shape of it." Rachel agreed. 

He made a rueful face. "Might you have any locals?" At her expression, he protested. "The maps are fine but first-hand experience is real useful in this line of work. Even if I could just talk to someone for a bit..."

"We might be able to bring in a couple." Rachel allowed. She approached Art, who rang down to Pike - they were already sending up a four-man team. Companies liked to keep an eye on the competition it seemed, even out here.

"Wait by your men," she suggested. "I'll let you know when we kick off."

He nodded then wandered away. Some of the men were hauling out a porter john while others setting up a lounging wait in the trunk beds. Her shoes were sensible and she could stand for hours if needed.

* * * * * 

"Well, shit." 

Rachel looked up at Art's exasperated tone. Coming around the drive was a weathered blue truck and tailgating was a slick black town car. 

"I thought he was in Lexington." She commented.

"He was," Art planted his hands on his belt. Preparing for excuses, she expected. He was bracing with a longsuffering expression.

When Raylan climbed out of his car, he didn't look quite guilty enough. He left his hat on the passenger seat as well. Crowder was slamming the door shut on the truck as two man hopped out of the bed. One had a bundle tucked under his arm. They approached casually, Crowder keeping pace with Raylan. There was a smug sumbitch expression on his face, and he was carrying a pair of worn boots.

"Hello, Chief." Art didn't shake his hand. He ignored Crowder completing for his attention and focused on his deputy,

"Raylan," he said instead, "what beings you here?"

Raylan shrugged unconvincingly. "Just in town. They opened up a Dairy Queen in Corbyn."

Art raised an eyebrow. "Corbyn is an hour from here." Raylan didn't reply but Crowder snorted next to him. Raylan shot him a wound-up look. Crowder smothered his amusement quickly.

"Pike sent us up to help with your issue." Crowder nodded to the other men. "We've got Randolph and Willsome."

Randolph had a familiar look to him, thin with blonde hair. Raylan caught her looking and said, "Ava's third or fourth cousin. They're not close." Rachel tried not to roll her eyes. Then he reached out to Willsome, said, "Give me the shit, Gipsy," took the bundle and walked into the woods.

"What does he think he's doing?" Art seemed to be asking the air.

"I think he's a little shy." Crowder was grinning to himself. The safety officer was sliding up, asking Randolph and Willsome a few questions then moving on. When he got to Crowder he seemed to be doing a count and came up short. "Where's your fourth?"

"Gettin' changed. Give him a moment." Crowder rocked back on his heels, slanted Rachel a look. "You doing alright?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Crowder." Rachel replied. She looked at him coolly. He nodded in a way that might have been respectful if she even slightly trusted him. Off to the side Raylan was loping back out of the stand of trees. He had stripped to an undershirt, the overall sleeves tied at his waist and awkwardly hopping in bare feet. His work clothes were rolled under his arm.

"Boyd," he called. "Give me my fuckn' boots." Crowder waited until he got closer then whipped them at his chest. Raylan caught them in a fumble, then glared. His clothes hit the ground.

"Cut it out."

"Where are your socks?"

Raylan pulled them from a pocket, made a face at Crowder, then tugged them on. Art was watching the show with his arms crossed.

"What makes you think you're going into that mine, Raylan?"

Rachel slowly turned to Art. His face was wiped of humor. This was his  _imma-start-paddling_  look, when you were going to be cut down to size. Raylan clenched his jaw.

"The fact you need me to."

"You told me that Boyd here is quite the talker. Now, I didn't plan on him coming on this little excursion but if he can talk them out I don't see what you're needed for."

"You wanna trust those company men there to do your work for you?" It came out pretty fucking defensive, and even Crowder looked slightly surprised. 

Art shrugged, arms still folded. "Sure." When Raylan opened his mouth Art cut him off. "It's not our job."

Raylan turned to Rachel. "You just going to wait out here and arrest them when they come out?"

She tipped her head to Art. "That was the plan, Raylan. There a problem with that?" Crowder was looking suspiciously placid, eyes cutting from the marshals to the mine and back.

"No, unless they decide to run and come out the four other entrances. You telling me Tim and Nelson and the rest of the office are waiting out just like you are?" He was working himself up.  He snapped a hand out to Art. "What are you even doing here? I-" Raylan cut himself off, looked at the ground. "Sorry."

"Raylan," Crowder was stepping close, dropping his voice. Needling. "Your boss is right. No sense in you going in. When's the last time you were stepping foot in a mine?" Art was looking less then pleased, but Rachel saw how he sized up the company men and Raylan. She connected the dots quick. Sending Crowder in alone was going to make something bad happen. He wouldn't have come unless there was something he wanted. With the luck they had there was an RPG squirreled in there. Hell, Crowder might have even been the one running this cache. 

"He can go." Art sounded firm but there was uncertainty on his face. Rachel tapped a finger to her holster. "But I want you all mic’ed. We'll run it off the radio." 

 * * * * *

Tearing down the gates made horrible screeching sound. Crowder was whispering to Raylan, helmet almost knocking him in the face. The safety officer had rigged the electric off a generator. It wasn’t enough for the lights but would keep the radios buzzing. Rachel checked the frequency off her laptop, card in the slot to keep it unlocked. Fallon was uncomfortable conceding his power to Art which cheered Raylan up at bit too much. He was being giddy. Hell, he even clapped her on the shoulder.

The noise faded in and out until she got the wavelength right. “Check, Givens?” She toggled the mic off.

“Roger, Books.” He shot her a thumbs up from the entrance. The group was weighed down with water, oxygen, lamps, and in Raylan’s case, plastic zip ties. Suddenly he whipped out and punched Crowder in the shoulder. She could hear the hit from there. Art made a concerned noise.

“You let him,” she reminded him. “You let him get away with a lot. Would you send anyone else down?”

“Anyone else in the office have mining experience?” He wasn’t being serious. “Plus, he doesn’t trust Crowder. That’s always good.”

“Right.” Rachel set the radios to record checking the extra hard drive for the automatic backup. They watched the small group walk into the shaft opening. When they were just about gone Rachel flicked on the wire. She could hear the shift of clothing, some breathing.

“I don’t have trust issues,” she replied to Art’s look. “I have contingencies.”

“And _that_ is why you are my favorite.” Was all he said.  


	2. So Below

_Its rocks ar_ _e the source of sapphires,_  
_And its dust_  contains _gold._

_The path no bird of prey knows,  
            Nor has the falcon’s eye caught sight of it._

_The proud beasts have not trodden it,  
            Nor has the_ fierce _lion passed over it._

_He puts his hand on the flint;  
            He overturns the mountains at the base._

_He hews out channels through the rocks,  
            And his eye sees anything precious._

_He dams up the streams from flowing,  
            And what is hidden he brings out to the light. - New American Standard Bible ▾ Job 28:6-11_

* * *

 

_Over the wire wasn't much in the way of conversation for the first few minutes. The folks from West Virginia were talking softly among each other about overtime but the locals were silent. Rachel kept the laptop balanced on her knees - she had gotten into the passenger seat of the SUV and left the door wide open for the air. Art was talking with the mine safety officer. The Coldiron men were fiddling with their phones, circling each other snappish. They had sent down five men with the Harlan lead, keeping the group small and light moving._

__

When the radio clicked Rachel picked it up. "Hello?"

__

She was expecting Raylan but Crowder's voice wasn't much of a surprise. "Deputy Marshal Books?" He said her name like it was one long title. He manged to keep that preacher way of pontificating, or maybe he had taken that with him from prison or whatever ridiculous shit he was involved in. "I have a query, if you'd oblige me."

__

"Of course, Mr. Crowder."

__

"I was thinking of asking Raylan, but he's in a mood. Now, Deputy Marshal Books, I am concerned for my dear friend's safety. He hadn't been in a mine since we were young men, as I'm sure you are aware of. Being that we might stumble upon the criminal element deep in this treacherous place would he not benefit from a more official form of assistance?"

__

"Are you asking to be deputized?" She kept her voice flat - specifically unimpressed. She could hear over the wire Raylan complaining about the assistance he usually expected. It took her a moment to realize that he was talking about Crowder and not to him. "I can't do that."

__

"May I speak to your Chief Deputy then?" 

__

Rachel paused, as if considering it. "No." Then she admonished him, "Leave the channel clear for communication, please." She didn't tack the last part on instead letting it fall out naturally like she was talking to someone useful. 

__

Then Raylan got on the horn. "I won't do it, Rachel."

__

"No one asked you to," Rachel sighed. "Just keep an eye on him."

__

"He's right next to me," come the retort. "I could smell him if it wasn't for the shaft."

__

Rachel didn't reply, just said, "Keep this clear, out and over."

__

"Over." The radio crackled to silence. 

__

* * * * * *

__

The mine was dark without the lights along the line. From behind the collection of headlamps cut odd, jagged shadows at his knees. His own lamp was heavy on his helmet. It had a strong beam and as he was at the head of this train there was just the illuminated shaft in front, cold and empty. Next to him Boyd was humming softly - something dismal and church-like. 

__

"Just don't start whistling," Raylan chided. They were all sweating under the weight of the helmets. He chafed at the stiff fabric and the way it rubbed rough on his skin at the seams. 

__

In the dark Boyd's eyes seemed to bugle out of the gloom. "I would never be so careless." Raylan grunted out a laugh. Boyd frowned but it was a character of an expression. 

__

Just behind one of the younger men snorted. "Don't tell me you believe in that shit."

__

"Never hurts to be cautious," Raylan was diplomatic but unembarrassed. "Why risk it, son?"

__

"Son?" The kid was shoving his way up the line. Beside him Boyd took a measured coiled step off side, so's the kid come up between them. "You calling me  _son_ , old man?"

__

Body chucked between his teeth, looked Raylan dead on, egging. "You going to let him insult you like that?"

__

"I'd let him call me all sorts if it gets us out of here, Boyd." Raylan made a point of talking over the kid's head. They were of a height, and he might have been good looking, that corn-fed strong look that they liked to cultivate these days with dip and stars and bars off the back of a chipped shoulder. "You just head back now."

__

"Yeah? What you gonna do?"

__

Raylan raised an eyebrow, looked the kid in the eye. He was young, maybe early twenties. No way the mine he was working on would last longer than this one. Bad luck. "I have a mind to send you home - and if you think of touching me I'll put you in the goosehaw." That backed him up quick, putting him right up by Boyd. Randolph and Gipsy looked uncomfortable. Boyd just dropped a heavy hand on the kid’s shoulder and said, "Go on, son. Get with your people."

__

The kid stopped bucking them after that, walked back on to his partner and kept his eyes down. 

__

Body put that same hand on Raylan's upper arm and shook him by it. "Well, I cannot say I have been so entertained since last time you left this line of employ."

__

"Shut up, Boyd. We going on to the left or straight on?"

__

Body showed all his teeth. "As they say, straight is the gate."

__

"And narrow the way," Raylan swept an arm out, gallant. "Which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it."

__

"No need to be woeful." Boyd was humming the tune as he took up the lead, though, the rising idea of Hank Williams between them.

__

* * * * *

__

Out front Art had taken up position in the driver’s seat, mirroring Rachel. "You think they’re doing alright?"

__

"I have no idea." Rachel had found a packet of trail mix and was picking out the nuts and eating them one by one. "You think you can do anything if it goes wrong?"

__

"It won't go wrong."

__

Rachel shot him a glance but said nothing, so he relented and confessed, "I had the Staties set up at the other entrances - Coldiron is insisting they are sealed but considering the condition of this little opening, who's to say."

__

"Not the locals?"

__

Art laughed. "After all the headache I got from the Bennetts I think I'll leave them to write tickets and busting kids for pot."

__

"High crime."

__

Which a groan Art readjusted his seat. "This whole place is rotten with crime. Can see why Ray-ray hates it."

__

"Raylan hates a lot of things." Rachel added. "Including this whole business with the mines."

__

"What he likes is to make things personal, Brooks, you've seen it. No one else bothers to drive down here weekly." He looks over to laptop. "Anything from the Hillbilly Convention?"

__

"You mean the Confederacy?" Art rolled his eyes but Rachel continued, "They’re just talking high school and religion."

__

"He must love that."

__

Rachel fished for more nuts but there seemed to be none left. She switched to raisins, almost off from the plastic of the sleeve, and chewed them slowly. "He seems to have selective recollection."

__

"Crowder brings it right out of him."

__

Rachel lifts her notepad. "I've been taking notes."

__

* * * * * *

__

After an hour walking straight into the hill, Raylan was chilled by the air. It was cool and damp the sides of the mine slick with water. He had paused when he could have sworn there was a noise of water running behind the stone. That wouldn't be to code though, so he ignored it as best he could and kept on. Boyd didn't seem to pay the chill any mind. While he was under Raylan remembered the heat of the machines stirring up the stink of busted stone. Here was dim and lacked a smell beyond drenched darkness. The air hung dead with cool whispers of fake breezes. There was no trace of anything living. 

__

Boyd was still humming and Raylan found himself muttering the words under his breath. The others had tried to talk about Evarts and House of God but he wasn't interested in speaking on school or church. He did find himself talking to Boyd sometimes for lack of anything else. Walking was slow going and the guys in the back kept to themselves. 

__

Then Boyd casually slowed to bring their shoulders in line. Without looking over, he asked in an undertone, "You hear it?" There was a shuffling ahead. Still no light.

__

Raylan nodded. "Yeah. Tell the boys?"

__

Boyd shrugged, "I am not running the show here."

__

"Let it rest." It if was a rat they'd never live it down. He wished he could shoot a text then tapped Boyd's elbow. "You still good with Morse?"

__

"I don't know anyone by that name, Raylan. Morris." He rolled the name around his mouth, mocking. "That one of your Federal companions?"

__

"Nope," Raylan tapped his elbow harder, " _Morse_  like your fellas in Kuwait."

__

" _Shee_ -it." Boyd rolled one eye over. "Well sure."

__

"You mind clicking that information up the line?"

__

"I'd be honored, my friend." Boyd raised a hand up to the radio at his hip.

__

"Keep it short," Raylan didn't want him feeling too pleased and the sour look Boyd gave him assured himself of that notion. In the dark the little red light was like a flicker, an after image behind closed eyes. Then they waited for a reply as they walked. There might have been the trace of movement ahead.

__

He grit his teeth and squinted a bit. Boyd fumbled on his glasses.

__

“Nothing,” he hissed lowly.

__

“Yeah,” Raylan agreed. The radio clicked twice on his belt. He hit the talk button once, short. Received.

__

Something metal hit the ground with a ring, followed but a curse. It was a person for sure. Raylan dropped his hand but he had no gun. Boyd caught the misstep but didn’t revel in it.

__

“Want to hit ‘em or come in causal like?”

__

Before Raylan could make up his mind one of the West Virginia guys called up, “You alright?”

__

Maybe it was because he didn’t sound local but someone shouted back, “No, I’m lost!”

__

Raylan froze and met Boyd’s incredulous expression.

__

“That sounds like your good friend Dewey Crowe, Raylan.”

__

“Well, shit.” Raylan hooked his thumbs off his belt. The uniform was keeping him on the back foot. “You think he’ll shout much?”

__

Boyd just looked toward the clattering like a point dog, all narrow eager expression. “We can flush them towards that poor left turn.”

__

“What was wrong with that left turn?” Raylan asked but Boyd didn’t reply. They watched as Dewey staggered out the darkness.

__

“You don’t look right,” Raylan couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice. Crowe’s eyes were overly wide with blown pupils, jerking slightly. “Where’s your light?”

__

“I dropped it,” Crowe muttered. Boyd took a few short steps then hauled him in. Crowe’s eyes weren’t focusing too well. Raylan snapped his fingers a few times. The others had ringed them in a loose circle.

__

“He needs out,” one of the guys said.

__

“Yeah,” Raylan agreed, “but I need to know some things first.”

__

“That you Marshal?” Crowe asked. “Am I in hell?”

__

“You’re not in hell, boy.” Boyd’s voice did nothing to calm Crowe. He sounded pissed. “How long were you thrown with these men?”

__

“I wasn’t!” Crowe protested. “Dickie said he had some…” Crowe cut himself off. Raylan bit back a sigh. So, this was Bennett shit, and Boyd wanted a look-see. He could dress him down later. Boyd huffed, said again, “How long?”

__

“I dunno, a coupl’a days.” Crowe’s eyes were watering openly. Raylan turned off his lamp and a few others follow suit. Boyd tipped back his helmet so it lit the ceiling.

__

“Alright, you see anyone else down here?” Raylan asked. Crowe shook his head but said, “There’s a few guys have a camp and things.”

__

“They have guns?”

__

“I don’t know, Marshal! I’d tell you if they did!”

__

“Sure you would.” Raylan radioed up, “We got Dewey Crowe here, sending him back with some of the Coldiron folks. Needs medical for some strange eye condition. See he don’t go blind.”

__

“Sure,” Rachel said over the air. “We’ll do our best.”

__

* * * * * * *

__

Three men short they set off again. Boyd got Raylan to talk about Limehouse a bit, nothing serious.

__

“My mama never went that way.” He said later.

__

Raylan raised an eyebrow.

__

“Now, my daddy was mean but he didn’t beat me like yours did. _No_ body beat like your daddy did.”

__

“I am aware of that, Boyd.”

__

“I did like your granddaddy.” They grinned at each other. “You liked his mash. I liked his mash.” Raylan allowed.

__

“That is very true. I just had my grandma, who could cook and sing like an angel but my family was too busy running shit to be making it.”

__

Raylan remembered to turn on his headlamp. “Too bad Arlo was no good at that.”

__

“He was good at other things.”

__

“Petty shit,” Raylan didn’t look over. “Stupid, old, snake-mean son of – “

__

“You’re not the milk of human kindness yourself,” Gipsy pipped up.

__

Boyd looked over his shoulder. “Anyone ask your fucking opinion, Gyp?”

__

There was no reply from the back. Raylan dodged the kick Boyd aimed at his ankle. “This this has got you.”

__

“Well, considering the last time I was in a mine I about lost my head -”

__

Boyd nodded slowly. “I can see why you’re a bit uncomfortable. Yet, here you are, facing the object of your…” he grinned tight-lipped, “ _distain_. Which is admirable for any man but for one as stubborn as yourself, I do say this is a true development of your character.”

__

Raylan give him a quelling look. They dodged the real word neatly. “Hilarious.”

__

Boyd showed a bit of teeth. “You ain’t dogwhipped, son.”

__

Slowly Raylan passed him a few zipties, covertly. Like Bullettville. Boyd stopped ginning but nodded tightly. “Alright then.”

__

“Alright,” Raylan repeated.

__

* * * * *

__

Doc Watson was Boyd’s next choice. This time Randolph had picked up the tune so the whole trail of them were muttering _the dreary region of the dead, where all things are forgot_ like a procession. With that they came on the little group of outlaws like a dirge in the dark. They were all squatted around a propane hot plate that wasn’t lighting. A shout went up when the matchbook was spotted.

__

The West Virginia boys tacked them in short order. Boyd was talking up a storm as he zipped the firestarter. “You ever been in a mine? You want us to all go up in a great wash of flame because you’re too stupid to think this though?” Raylan relayed what he could though the static crackle on his handset. He could radio up in a few minutes all the details. 

__

“He’s alright, Boyd, don’t talk him to death.” Raylan still had a hand on the man he needed. The four others would just be a bonus as far as he was concerned. “Pass him over.”

__

Boyd pulled his man up by the ear, causal violence easy as breathing. “Have half a mind to shoot this man Raylan.”

__

“What about the firedamp?”

__

“I can be short-sighted in my enthusiasm,” Boyd conceded. “I could always gut him.”

__

“Don’t be talking like that.” Raylan sighed. “There’s all this concern about distress of the prisoner.”

__

“Duress of confession?” Boyd cocked his head. “You don’t seem to be all that bothered about that concept when you come into town kicking over whatever bothers you.”

__

“Boyd,” Raylan heaved a sigh. “Com’n now. It’ll take us an hour at least to get out of here.”

__

The others were already being corralled by the boys. Just walking the abandoned tunnels had kicked up dust on their clothes and faces. Boyd shoved on his man silently.

__

“Don’t pout,” Raylan needled. “I’ll see that you get something out of it.”

__

“Cash prize?” Body scoffed. Which must have been what he had come down here for - Dickie's cash anyhow. 

__

“Dairy Queen?” Raylan offered, half joking.

__

Boyd shrugged. “As long as you’re buying, lawman. I don’t have the funds – “

__

“Sure you don’t,” Raylan interrupted. “You just a poor coal digger, like your daddy and your daddy’s daddy.”

__

Boyd laid a hand upon his chest, said solemnly, “As are all the people from this dark a’ bloody ground.”

__

Raylan laughed. 

__


End file.
